"i heard you crying in the shower," margo says.
i put my book down beside me. i blink, margo blinks. her hair drips beads of water onto my carpet.
"yes," i reply.
"does that mean you're still sad?" she asks.
"no...yes- well, not really. not in the sense you're thinking," i say.
"oh."
"yeah."
margo makes her way from the doorway to my bed and takes a seat at the foot. she's still wearing a towel instead of clothes, and her skin is pink from the heat of her shower. she looks like she has more to say, but i don't ask, so she doesn't tell. instead, we just sit and watch each other. i wonder what the hospital has made me look like to her, and she probably wonders if i actually love her enough to get better this time, or if i was just saying it to make her happy.
"since when do you wear make-up, kiddo?" i ask, hoping to break the silence. the black lines underneath her eyes are suddenly the only things i can pay attention to.
"i don't know. i guess right after you left," she says.
"oh."
"yeah."
not really a poem at all. one day it'll be an excerpt. maybe. i don't know, i'm too awkward to write a full novel.